whole of the lower deck heard the yarn, and Mr. Dacres was unanimously acclaimed a "thunderin' brick." Everything passed off quietly until the following afternoon. It was the calm before the storm. Basil Dacres had just completed his trick as "Duty Sub," and was enjoying a cooling glass of lime juice in the gun-room when a signalman knocked at the door. "Chit for Mr. Dacres, sir," he announced. The sub held out his hand for the folded slip of paper. His intuition told him that something was amiss: it was. "Flag to officer commanding H.M.S. 'Royal Oak.' Mr. Basil Dacres, sub-lieutenant, is to report himself on board the flagship as soon as possible." Dacres said not a word to his messmates, but the deep flush that swept over his bronzed features told its own tale. Without waiting to give explanations or to receive condolences or advice the sub hurried off to his cabin and changed into No. Eight Rig. In the midst of the operation Commander Bourne entered. He had, in the course of his duty, initialled the message and guessed its purport. "Look here, Dacres," he exclaimed impulsively, "I'm going with you. There's bound to be a most unholy bust-up, I'm afraid; but I mean to stand by you." For a moment the sub hesitated. He quite realized the need of a friend to back him up during the coming ordeal, but his independence quickly reasserted itself. "I don't think you need, sir," he replied. "You see, it may be something else. In any case, I'd much rather I went through by myself." "You would?" "Yes, sir." "But, look here, Dacres——" "It's no use, sir. I'll stick to it somehow. What's the good of getting other men mixed up in this affair when one can bear the brunt. Sharing the blame will not make things any easier for me, I'm afraid. After all, I had a rattling good time." There was a ring of determination in the sub's voice that compelled his superior officer to give way. "Very well, then," said Bourne reluctantly. "You go alone. But, mark you, if there's to be any serious bother I,
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